


Root and Silence

by Nellancholy



Category: (but no actual love live characters yet), League of Legends, Love Live! School Idol Festival (Video Game), Overwatch (Video Game), RWBY
Genre: (yes it's a love live au), Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Idols, Angst, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, i just learned about hanahaki not long ago and the concept is fascinating, prototyping a new au here, the actual au will likely be less angsty than this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 17:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12194601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellancholy/pseuds/Nellancholy
Summary: Awaiting death might be easier than having a friend who's awaiting death.





	Root and Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Hanahaki Disease is a (thankfully fictional) disease in which a person experiencing unrequited love begins to cough/vomit up flower petals. Should the disease be left untreated, the sufferer will eventually die of suffocation, as petals fill their lungs.
> 
> It can be treated surgically, but the feelings of love that caused the disease in the first place will be gone as well.
> 
> The only other cure, is for the object of affection to return the sufferer's feelings.
> 
> I'm vague about the identity of the person Ahri is in love with, because it doesn't matter here.
> 
> (I chose to interpret the petals as fragments of flesh and blood, here.)
> 
> (Also I know that Amelie's maiden name is canonically Guillard, but I like the Reseau/Rousseau symbolism.)

Ahri Leblanc peered out the window of her apartment, her vision blurred and unfocused as her gaze fell onto the tissue in her hand. Clear phlegm. Bright red slivers within them, recognizable as the small, petal-like fragments that were the symptom of…that disease.

 

It’d happened for like a week now, but the source of those symptoms, her own feelings…had been there for much longer. She coughed again, sharp, hacking coughs that left her head dizzy and her chest feeling like it’d caved in. She turned away from the window, back to the small but luxurious apartment which she lived alone in, never to share with anyone else, let alone the one she felt so strongly for. Heading to the kitchen, she quietly poured herself a glass of water. At the very least, she could soothe her throat, if not her chest or her heart.

 

Sure, she could probably get treated no problem. Being the sole adopted child of the CEO of the world’s largest cosmetics manufacturer (who would rent an apartment just for said child to stay away from her during the week) tended to have its benefits.

 

But she refused to entertain that notion for even a second. She coughed again at that thought, more gently this time. That was the sweet, sweet tragedy, wasn’t it? People had died of Hanahaki Disease before. People who could have let go, who could have saved themselves, but who held on to their love, and recognizing that no one could force another to love them, chose to draw their last shallow breath with their lungs blooming red, and the thought of their beloved the last thing they ever pictured.

 

She inhaled again with little difficulty as she jogged over to her bed, falling in without bothering to turn the lights out. She didn’t know how or when this would end, but she wasn’t giving up just yet.

 

* * *

 

 

Yang Xiao Long fiddled with a pencil as she sat at the Idol Research Club’s table, in no state to come up with lyrics given the circumstances the club was in at present.

 

Across her sat Amelie Rousseau, with a small, black plastic bag that hung slightly open to reveal a small collection of balled-up, petal-covered tissues. She was stoic as always, alternating between checking her phone and her nails, which had not gotten any more or less sharp since she last checked them three minutes ago.

 

Unable to tolerate any silence for long, Yang cleared her throat. “Uh, should we really be doing this? I mean, she’s been hiding this from us. You know how she is. You know how she’ll get if we confront her with-” here she gestured at the bag, “-this, out of nowhere.”

 

Amelie quirked her eyebrow, her intent gaze swinging up to meet Yang’s. “Do you think so? Well, Ahri is the one who pulled us into this club in the first place! And now she is hardly able to hit her notes, she gets out of breath halfway through dance practice. It is clear that this…disease is pulling her far below her usual standards of performance.”

 

Yang blinked, trying to process what she just heard. “Is this what this is fucking about? Our damn concerts? Ahri is _**sick**_. She could _**die**_ from this.”

 

Amelie, for her part, did not stop, continuing on with her usual measured tone. “It is precisely because of her well-being that we must confront her with the motive of our club. She is hiding, trying to…eat her feelings. If she does not decide on her own to receive the surgery, then she will…” Amelie paused. “Regardless, I am only concerned about our club president, as I should be.”

 

Yang leapt to her feet, leaning across the table. “And I am concerned about our _**friend**_! You think Ahri is going to accept something like that, and let her feelings go? She’s nothing _**but**_ feelings! Look, there has to be some other way. Right now, we just can’t scare her-”

 

Amelie stood up to face Yang again, her eyes narrowed. “And what is that other way? Hunt down whoever she’s ‘feeling’ for and force them to confess their love to-”

 

The escalation of their conversation was stopped short as the door to the club room slid open, their club president finally arriving. “Wow, you guys got p-pretty loud.” She let out a small cough.

“Must be having fun brainstorming our newest song, huh?”


End file.
